


Enough For Me

by LadyGrenadine



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drama, Eventual Smut, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, NSFW, Romance, The Nikiforovs are my OCs, Trauma, alternating povs, because the universe sucks that way sometime, someone ends up doing some time in prison, where is Victor's family by the way??, wrong place wrong time, yes!! lets talk about Victor's Family!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGrenadine/pseuds/LadyGrenadine
Summary: At times, it seems, my life can be summarized in a series of little mistakes. The promises I almost forgot to keep or a promise made too hastily. The doors I left open as the dog ran out or the car keys I've locked inside of a closed door. Sometimes I forget them. Sometimes I move on. Sometimes they haunt me forever, breathing down the back of my neck in the center of a crowded room. Sometimes they have consequences that spiral out of control. Sometimes you don't need vengeance, just forgiveness.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here it goes! My first Victuri fic! Because even while my actual work is piling up to the ceiling, this pairing can simply not be ignored. So heres my shot trying to dramatize it a little, maybe traumatize a character somewhere down the line. But more on that later. Until then, Enjoy!

“I’ll see you at the hot spring.” 

“You mean ‘in’ the hot spring?”

“Either one.”

“Why either?"

"Because me and you naked" The text reads as a winky face emoji appear on the screen. My face reddens. 

I found it hard to sleep on the plane after that, a smile on my face and my headphones in my ears as if I was listening to a comedy soundtrack. When really I was just looking forward to having Victor all to myself and relaxing after a long season in front of crowds and cameras. 

After months of training, the season was now over. It all seems like such a blur, the only mementos I have are the silver medal folded carefully in my checked luggage and the gold ring on my finger. 

Hard to believe that about a year ago I never thought I would be getting engaged, to Viktor Nikiforov no less. 

Phichit made a quip about at the banquet with a glass of champagne in his hand. How often do celebrity crushes turn out?  
I was certainly one of the lucky ones, if not the only dreamer with a few crinkled posters of their future spouse.

I slide back into my seat on the plane, pulling my jacket tighter around me trying to get some sleep.  
Victor was right, it's hard to sleep in a tiny seat like this. 

My plane lands in Japan. Somewhere on another continent, Victor should be getting off his plane if he hasn’t already.

I pull out my phone to send him a quick text, letting him know I landed. Before I do, a flash of pink flesh pops up on my screen. Freshly loaded from the sudden wifi surge.

I feel my face turn beet red and quickly shut off my phone, glancing at the people sitting beside me. They acted as if they were too busy pulling their luggage out of the overhead compartments. I sigh and put my phone away. I’ll text him later. 

We are just months away from another competitive season and the Winter Olympics in South Korea. It’s gonna be a busy year ahead no doubt. But I’m not worried. A year-long engagement is no issue. So we decided to hold off on making any wedding plans until afterward. Not that I'm not looking forward to it. There just seems to be a lot of unknowns. 

What would Victor's family say? What would his parents even think of me? Their son's husband.

Skimming through the headlines on my news feed to pass the time until the train arrives. News of the US president. The migrant flood from Syria. Economics and stocks, the normal depressing drag. I bit back a yawn, wondering if I should grab a hot cup of coffee while I wait. 

“Protests in Russia?” The international section read. 

The news headline barely caught my eye, scrolling past it on the feed. But I thought of Victor making his quick pit stop back home in Saint Petersburg.

I check my messages. He hadn’t texted me back yet. 

Was he mad that I didn’t even mention the photo? That I didn’t reciprocate with another.

“Police respond with brutality.” My heart sinks at the description. I swallow. Swiping away from the news page. Pressing the dial button under Victor’s number.  
Stepping onto the escalator, holding the phone to my ear as it rang.

And rang. 

And rang.

It beeped to the voicemail, Victor’s smooth recorded Russian voice. “Hello, this is Victor Nikiforov, and Makkachin.”

Two short, cheerful barks sounded from the background. “Sorry I can’t take your call. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you once I’m off the rink.”

I waited for it to beep before speaking into the phone, “Hi Victor it's me. I just landed in Japan I’m heading home. Wanted to make sure your plane landed safely…”

I paused, swallowing, before hastily stuttering. “I saw the news headline and I wanted to make sure you're safe. Call me when you can. I love you.”

The train ride home was quiet. The ear buds were starting to hurt my ears. My cell phone sitting in my lap quietly. The screen black. 

“I just need to take care of a few things and I’ll join you in Japan in a few days.” Victor’s words sounded so simple when they were spoken less than twelve hours ago. I nodded in response, kissing him farewell at the airport.

What on earth could he possibly have to take care of in Russia? 

Two days have passed. The hot springs bubbled and steamed in the winter air. The local ice rink was paved and smoothed, untouched by metal blades.

No word from Victor. 

“Could he have lost his phone?” Mari asked, lighting a cigarette. Taking a break from her chores while mom wasn’t looking.

“That doesn’t sound like him,” I respond. My chopsticks, clicking around the near empty bowl. 

“All it takes is for someone to trip or get turned around then the things just lands in a puddle,” Mari murmured. 

“Huh?”

“He could have dropped his phone,” she explained, flicking off the ashes of her cigarette. “It could take a few days to get a replacement is all I’m suggesting.” 

“I think he would have made an effort to contact me at least.”

“Either way I’m sure he’s fine.” She blew out some smoke and put out her cigarette. “What could go wrong?”

Mari righted herself. Straightening out her uniform. “Oh, and mom wanted me to tell you to sweep up the front sidewalk before you call it a day.”

“Sure Mari,” I murmur as she left the room. 

Pushing the empty bowl away and turning on my phone. I scroll through the list of music tracks trying to narrow down something for a new program. Contemplating a new theme to choreograph. Viktor probably already had one in mind. 

‘Love’s Eternal?’ I ponder, picturing Victor’s smiling face in the pale sunlight. ‘Nah! Too obvious.’

Thumbing the ring on my finger the emptiness of the room seemed to echo around it. As if the hollowness between the wood panels and the silence that echoed bore down as if intended to suck the air out of me. 

‘Stop it! What would Victor decide?’ I say to myself, still scrolling through music tracks. ‘Hope? That seems reasonable. Then again so does betrayal? Forgotten? Broken? Loneliness?’

I set my phone down. Not liking where this train of thought was going. 

I cleaned away the bowl and swept the front walkway like Mari had asked. I left the phone behind, just looking at it made me anxious. Makkachin pawed at my leg after I finished sweeping. 

“Wanna go for a walk boy?” He barked excitedly, jumping lightly on his paws toward the door.

I scratched his ears and led him outside for an evening stroll. The poodle keeping pace beside me. It wasn’t a permanent de-stressor for the looming challenge that was the Olympics just months away. But it did help it subside, albeit slightly. Breathing in the cool evening air helped. Makkachin smiled as he panted, wagging his tail at any passing man. Apparently, he too was looking for Victor. 

Stumbling into the room, half tripping on the new sofa Viktor bought. I begin pulling off my sweatshirt when the phone buzzed from the bedside table. 

Viktor?! 

“Yurio?” I asked, glancing at the caller ID. 

“Hey, Yurio!” I answered. 

“What the hell? I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour. Have you seen the news?”

“No, why?”

“Turn on the news. I don’t feel like explaining it all to you.” 

“What?”

“Turn on the news and catch up. I’ll call you back when I get there!”

“Get where?”

He hung up. 

Switching over to the news feed. I read one of the headlines and paled. Dashing into the main viewing room of the inn, where several customers, mostly drunk regulars sat and stared at the evening news. 

‘Is this actually happening? This can’t be real. This can’t be real.’

A pale newscaster reported. “In Russia today, riots continued in central Moscow where the local LGBT community demands equal representation in government as well as the release of several figures that were arrested several days ago, accused by the Russian authorities of inciting riots. Among the arrests was professional figure skater Victor Nikiforov. Who is being held on the charge of spreading illegal propaganda within St. Petersburg. No official remark has been released from Nikiforov himself, but many are already rushing to confirm his innocence and secure his release. Including the leaders of the community arrested for starting the riots. The issue is currently being debated internally and will release a statement sometime in the near future. In other news,….”

The newscaster's voice faded as I stared at the screen, my legs shaking as I somehow stumble out of the room. The image of Victor’s smiling, carefree face amongst the more gloomy members of the arrested persons. 

‘Viktor’s arrested. Viktor’s in prison. How has this happened?’ 

Tears edged my eyes at the thought. Could they bar him from competing ever again? Could they revoke his passport? Stop him from traveling. Either option would kill him.  
But there were people vouching for his innocence. It was a mistake. Bad timing. Wrong place at the wrong time. Victor was an athlete, not a protestor. He had no interest in politics.

‘Will he be released soon? Could he be released?’ 

He was the most well-known amongst the arrested. Would they make an example out of him? What if I never saw Victor again?

A few tears fell down my cheeks. Makkachin whimpered beside me, pawing at my leg. 

“It’s okay,” I reassured the poodle. “He’ll be home soon.” 

My phone rang. It was Yuri again, as promised. My hands shaking as I held it to my ear. 

“Yurio…is Victor…?”

“Oi! Move the phone away from your ear. No one wants to see that!” 

“Huh?” Glancing at my screen to see it was a video call. 

Yurio grimacing on the screen, dressed in a red, fur trim coat. A tiger print beanie pulled down over his blonde hair. Behind him stone gray walls and what looked like a layer of glass judging by the glare under fluorescent lightening. 

“Keep your mouth shut. I’m not supposed to have my phone in here.” He muttered before the camera lens was concealed clunking against what looked like a wooden desk.

“Are you sure you want to do this Yuri?” came a deep aged voice in a thick Russian accent. “I had to sign special papers to get you in here.”

“Victor says I owe him a favor,” Yurio responded. 

“What kind of favor?”

“Don’t know. He tends to forget these kinds of things.”

There was silence for a little bit. 

The click of metal told him a heavy door was opening across the room. 

“Can I talk to him on my own, Grandpa?”

A metal chair scraped across a tile floor. Followed by the heavy sigh of a familiar breath. 

“Hi Yurio, have you talked to Yuri?”

The phone lifted from its hiding place. The camera facing the shining veneer of glass. I had to squint my eyes until the camera adjusted to the florescent brightness. 

“Yuri!” Came Victor’s voice. Hands and nose pressed against the glass wall as he sat behind a desk. Bright eyes beaming peering down through the air holes at the phone Yurio kept concealed in the sleeves of his jacket. 

I felt my voice crack, seeing his Victor through the glass. The bags under his eyes. His silver hair tussled and unbrushed. The five o’clock shadow lining his jawline. It was clear he hadn’t showered in the past few days. 

“Are you okay, Yuri?”

“Are you?” I ask. 

“I’m fine. They are just holding me for questioning I should be out in a few days.” 

“A few days?”

“Yurio helped me get ahold of my lawyer. He’s been on vacation this week. But he’ll be back in town soon and we’ll get everything cleared up.”

“Were you protesting?”

Victor shook his head. “No. This is all just a misunderstanding. We'll get it cleared up and we’ll start training in no time at all.” 

“But they still arrested you?” 

Victor nodded slowly. His mouth a thin line. 

My hands almost went numb. My mind reeling with all the things that could go wrong. Recalling horror tales about prisons they told us as kids. 

“Don’t worry about me, Yuri. Just start working on a program. I’ll be there to help you train in about a week, maybe less. Trust me this is no big deal.”

“No big deal?!” I felt my fear turning into anger. “you're wearing a blue jumpsuit!”

“I know it's not flattering,” Victor remarked with a small grin, brushing his hand across the vinyl-like fabric. 

I was not amused, my hands shaking. 

Victor’s pale eyes lowered across the phone screen. “This will be over soon. I promise. Just promise me not to worry.” 

“Is that a promise you can keep?”

“If my faith in you is enough to help you medal then your faith should be enough for me.” 

He smiled softly through the glass. The same kind smile would often leave butterflies in my stomach.

I don’t know if I smiled back.

“Hey!” a gruff Russian voice came. “You can’t have that in here!” 

“I was just-” 

The screen went black. The faint echoes of Yurio’s voice echoing in his ears. 

“Victor?”

Call ended. 

Makkachin whimpered, pawing my knees as I held them to my chest. 

——

We had moved my old room around to make space for the two of us. My room at the end of the hallway offered us much more privacy than any other room at the inn.  
I wasn’t in school anymore so I didn’t have much use of a desk. Victor had surprised me with a small writing desk he found on an antique furniture site. It fit snuggly in the corner. Making room for the dresser and sofa, that is mostly occupied by Makkachin. Not to mention Viktor’s large queen size bed we had replaced my old twin with. It was a mix of Victor and me. 

I loved it. 

Now it just seemed empty. Like a hollow shell of its self. 

I can’t sleep in the night. The bed seems too big as if the mattress will fold up and consume me. 

I watch my phone in-between the sheets, checking for news updates. Waiting for that one phone call from Viktor telling me he’s been released and he’s finally on his way to Japan.

Several days passed before I realized that the waiting had robbed me of my sleep. 

“Yuri,” my mother asks me one morning. “How long has it been since you slept?”

She shoves me back into bed before I can answer. Closing the blinds on the windows and turning off the lights. Leaving a steaming cup of herbal tea on the bedside table before she shuts the door. 

I shake, sipping the piping hot tea. Remembering staring at myself in the mirror minutes earlier, hoping that the bags under my eyes weren’t as noticeable. Guess I was wrong. 

I curl up under the sheets again. Trying to coax myself into some kind of slumber. The thought of Victor lying in a prison cell keeps me from shutting my eyes.  
I push myself from the bed and lay on the couch. The memories flooding back to me. I can still feel the nip of his teeth on the back of my neck. The gentle inhale of breath through his nose in the pale morning light. His hands playfully coaxing me from sleep as they made their way south. My thighs tingle at the memory. 

I jump when the phone rings from the bed, as I move to snatch it up from the bed sheets. 

It's an international number. From Russia?! 

“Hello?” I greet in Russian. I bite my lip, worrying about carrying on a full out conversation in my broken and fragmented Russian.

“Hello!” came a woman’s voice in rusty English, heavy with a Russian accent. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Is this Yuuri Kat-Suuki?” she asks.

I flinch at the mispronunciation of my name.

“Y-yes.”

“I’m Katrina Nikiforov. It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, when can I meet my future son-in-law?”


	2. Part 2

It was autumn outside. At least from what I could tell through the small window. There was no view of trees, just a pale gray sky and a shy sun. Dark storm clouds would be passing by soon. 

I hated waking up this way. Waking up alone on the small cot. Shivering with a small line of sweat coating my skin underneath the jumpsuit they made me wear.

How had this happened? All I did was drop my wallet. This wasn’t the first time I had lost something.

Now for some reason I’ve been waking up to another day in a small cell with an exposed toilet. 

How long had it been? Two days? Three? 

The pillow’s fabric is rough against my cheek. It smells too sterile. Nothing like the ocean breeze and cherry blossoms. Nothing like Yuri.   
It had never hurt to think of Yuri before, especially now knowing how low those soft brown eyes could sink when he was worried or afraid.   
They were starting too, from what I could see on the small screen of the phone Yurio had smuggled in his sleeve. 

How far had they sunk by now?

No. I can’t think about it. 

They slid breakfast through the door. But I could not bring myself to eat more than a few bites of that gruel. 

I feel so old. Going so long without doing anything. No skating, or sightseeing. No lovemaking especially.

Sitting alone for hours makes my joints grow stiff. I try to exercise in the small space I am given. Doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as I can before my joints feel raw from bumping or sliding into something else. 

But it’s not the same. Nothing seems to work.

They knock on the metal door. It jars me from my trance. 

“Your lawyer’s here to see you, Nikiforov.”

I stand from the cot and slid my hands in the slot where they pass the food tray through. My wrists are placed in handcuffs before they unlock the door and escort me down the hall. I cringe every time the metal pinches my wrists. 

The long halls lined with metal doors and cells feels oppressive. Ominous even as silence permeates everything. It's been maddening. I find it difficult to sleep at night. 

They take me through to a more private meeting room. I see a man I do not recognize and…

“Dad?”

A weight sinks in my chest. The last thing I wanted was my father to see me like this. But they remove the handcuffs and I find myself in his embrace. 

“Are you okay Vitcha?”

Even though I’m nearly 30 he still holds and talks to me as if I was a child. 

“I’m okay,” I answer, embracing him. 

He pats me on the back as he always has done. Gesturing for me to sit down.

“This is my friend. Barron Slyvetsky. He handles a lot of cases like these.”

The man nods and shakes my hand. He twirls his pen over a blank legal pad, ready to get started.

I feel my father’s gaze on me. He is not angry. Maybe concerned. Disappointed? 

I had not exactly been forward with him and mom about my relationship with Yuuri. Then again I haven't exactly been forward with them about anything in more recent years. 

“So I’ve had the chance to review your situation Victor,” Barron begins. “It looks like an unfortunate coincidence. Your wallet was found on the protest grounds, yet they arrested you at your apartment in downtown St. Petersburg. Did you take part in the protest at all even before the police got involved?”  
I shake my head.

“What were you doing in the part of town?”

“I was on my way back to my apartment from the airport. It was an overnight flight so I was jet lagged. I got off the train station. I stopped in a cafe for some coffee then got in an Uber straight back to my place. “

“So you dropped your wallet while getting in the car correct?”

“Apparently. I guess it fell out of my coat pocket.” 

I watch as he makes some notes on his legal pad. “Did you pay with your credit card?”

I nod.

“Seems simple enough. I’ll just need access to your credit card statement and we’ve got you a solid alibi. Should be an open and shut case.”

He passes me the legal pad and I write down my credit information. 

"I understand you and your boyfriend are engaged, where do you plan on living once you've settled down?”

“We haven’t thought that far ahead yet. We’ve been busy prepping for the Olympics in Korea.” 

He takes his leave but my father stays behind.

“You go ahead Barron. I just want to talk with my son.”

The door closes behind Barron and my father sits across from me. I find myself wringing my hands. Anticipating his next choice of words. 

“You like him? He’s an old friend from law school. We planned on starting up our own law firm one day.”

“What changed?”

“Your mother got pregnant with your sister. We both had debts to pay off so I took a different career path.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

He shakes his head. “No. If you live your life with regrets you’ll never notice the happiness in what there is. That's my motto.”

I smile. Remembering just how much I am like my father. Even though I always wondered how much of himself he saw in me?

Same blue eyes and coy grin. The thinning silver blonde hair that used to match mine before he shaved it all off for good. 

I run my fingers through my hair and wonder how long it will be before I do the same. 

“Can you get ahold of Yuuri for me?” I ask. “Tell him what Barron said and that I’m alright. He’ll drive himself mad with worry.”

“Sure I’ll tell him myself. Your mother and Ana should be picking him up from the airport about now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ana is the new maid we hired a few months ago. After old Eva retired.”

“I meant with Yuuri?”

“Oh, your mother somehow got ahold of him and invited him to stay at the house while we get this sorted out. She said something about him sounding incredibly anxious.”

“Yeah, he gets that way.”

“Are you eating alright? You seem dour.”

“Haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“Then whats wrong?”

“I guess I just thought you would be mad,” I mutter, feeling like a child again.

He places his hand on top of mine. “I’m just upset to see you in this place, is all.”

I feel a little better hearing these words. But there is a pause in his voice, that suggests there is more to come. 

“Your mother and I were curious about this pupil you had taken upon yourself to coach. We were a little suspicious with that Eros routine you put together for him. We figured out what was going on at the Cup of China when you… and then at the Grand Prix. The way you grew your hair out when you were younger, the way you’ve always acted, I was and yet at the same time I wasn’t surprised. Yes, I was a little upset when you didn’t call to tell us what was going on between you two. I’m over it now, but lately, I’ve been wondering, especially after what Barron said. Would they even have bothered to track you down at your apartment if you hadn’t behaved the way you did during the competition?” 

“You never planned on falling in love with mom.” I find myself saying, drawing a deep breath. “Why should I be held to different standards?”

My father sighs. “It’s just a father’s worry. There's nothing that can be done now. If you and Yuuri ever become parents you’ll understand.” 

A guard knocks on the door. Our time is up. 

“I’m proud of you Victor. I always have been. Nothing will change that.”

He kisses me on the cheek as we say our goodbyes. His tall suited form disappearing slowly down the hallway. 

I’m placed back in handcuffs as they take me back to my cell. Where I am left alone again. Realizing I had forgotten to ask Barron how long this process of certifying my alibi will take. 

I tell myself it shouldn’t take long. Having watched my father rushing through paperwork like a mad man before running off to his office to get someone acquitted when I was a child. That was back before the internet could fit in the palm of your hand and also make video calls. 

Sitting on my cot I think of Yuuri, trying to imagine his initial reaction when he meets my parents. The dimples that form on his cheeks when he smiles nervously. The awkward light-feathered handshake he has. The way he scratches the back of his head as his mind tries to think of the next sentence.   
The little things about him that I find endearing as his lover. Things that can be interpreted differently through the eyes of your in-laws. 

I think of my sister Katya, living in Paris with her husband and children, and I wonder what she would say. We have barely spoken in years. 

Her husband seemed nice enough the one time I met him. Until he started making jabs at me and my figure skating ambitious and my long hair. I was young and unsure. 

I didn’t give him a second thought after that. 

I wonder if she would give Yuuri a second thought. 

My father mentioned me and Yuuri as parents. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t thought about it before. Picturing Yuuri smiling sweetly with a dark haired pudgy baby bouncing on his knee. 

Time passes slowly. As I watch the sun move across the sky and count the moments between seconds. It gets colder as it gets dark out. The jumpsuit feels like vinyl and does not insulate heat well. The blanket they gave me seems cheap and offers little warmth. 

I yawn and curl up on the small cot, trying to picture the large bed I share with Yuri back in Hatsetsu. It seems to be the only thing that can help put me to sleep. 

My eyes only seemed to be closed for a few minutes when I hear the booted footsteps of guards coming down the hallway. My eyes open finally when they do not pass my door, but instead pause in front of it. Leather squeaks on the concrete. 

It is the middle of the night. Dinner was served long ago. Nighttime cell checks were made. The overhead lights shut off leaving me in darkness. 

Had the paperwork gone through? Were they here to release me?

Yet they are silent, except for the slurred indiscernible whispers I cannot make sense of. The faint whiff of cheap vodka, smelling more like rubbing alcohol then liquor reaches my nose. 

I swallow, feigning slumber, as the latch on my cell door clicks open.


End file.
